


Bad Idea Reprise

by frockbot



Series: Tricksters [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Frotting, Hair-pulling, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Persona 5: The Royal, Prostate Massage, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scratching, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Roleplay, dom!akechi, implied dubious consent, sub!Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frockbot/pseuds/frockbot
Summary: When Ren and Akechi woke up in [redacted]’s reality, over a year ago, they went to the laundromat to talk. Now, Ren wants to go back there and let their conversation play out a little…differently. Akechi obliges.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Tricksters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765963
Comments: 28
Kudos: 298





	Bad Idea Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> **cw:** explicit sex (roleplay, enthusiastic consent but **implied** dubious consent, semi-public sex, dom!akechi, sub!ren, dirty talk, rough kissing, biting, scratching, hair pulling, frotting, anal fingering, prostate play, rough sex, anal sex, blowjobs, deep-throating, face-fucking)
> 
> _[Take this bad idea and walk this wire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqBXO3edYNI) _
> 
> _[Throw your spark into oil and fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqBXO3edYNI) _

[CHATLOG. Akechi to Ren, 3:32PM, 5/21/XX]

_The weather’s supposed to be decent tonight._

_Shall we?_

The weather was decent. It was more than decent; it was _nice_ , generally warm, with a cool breeze that played distractingly with Ren’s bangs as he and Akechi made their way across the road to the laundromat. The last time they’d come here was that first day in Maruki’s reality, stealing away to discuss what was happening. At Ren’s request, more than a year later, they were coming back to do something else entirely.

“This should do nicely,” Akechi said, looking around the dingy little room. “No one will bother us in here.”

“What did you want to talk about?” Ren asked—or, rather, Joker asked, because even without the mask and the outfit he was obviously, visibly Joker now. Joker was loose and lithe where Ren was hunched and bulky; Joker was intense, sharp, where Ren was soft and indistinct. Akechi wondered if it was a conscious thing. He wondered if Ren was aware he was doing it.

It was extremely fucking hot.

Akechi unfurled a smile, a grin, like a cat in cream. “Who said anything about talking?”

And before Joker could finish looking confused, Akechi seized the collar of his shirt, swung him around, and slammed him up against the wall of dryers. The air whooshed out of him; his eyes flashed, he started to straighten up, but Akechi was on him already, slotting their hips together and gripping his throat.

“I think it’s about time we address the elephant in the room,” Akechi purred, his mouth so close to Joker’s that their lips brushed with every word. Joker braced his hands against Akechi’s shoulders, started to push him away, but Akechi rolled his hips and saw Joker’s pupils dilate. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at me? You stare. Sometimes I think you might be drooling. It’s obscene.”

“I don’t,” Joker began. Akechi squeezed his throat, making him gasp.

“You _do_. And lucky for you, it’s been a while out here.” He was still working his hips in short, swift thrusts, pressing his growing length against the inside of Joker’s thigh. “I’m going to do you the tremendous favor of fucking you.”

“I don’t,” Joker repeated, strained, ragged.

“No?” Akechi adjusted his angle, grunted with satisfaction as his cock dragged against Joker’s, long and lean and hard. “I suppose that’s your dagger in your underpants?”

Joker shut his eyes, licked his lips. “Akechi—”

“Admit it.” Akechi bit Joker’s earlobe, tugged it, ran his tongue along the edge of his ear. “You’ve wanted this for a long time. Possibly forever. That day, at the TV station, when I insulted your precious friends—didn’t you think to yourself, _I wish I could shut him up_? Didn’t you wish you could stick your cock down my throat?”

Joker huffed out a breath, fingers twisting into Akechi’s coat.

“At the bathhouse…it’s a good thing the water was so hot. I couldn’t see your erection through all the steam. But that’s why your face was so red, wasn’t it? While I was rattling off my sob story, you were thinking about bending me over the edge of the tub, shoving my face against the tile—”

“Akechi,” Joker groaned.

“We didn’t have any lube. Would that have mattered, though? Or would you have fucked me regardless? Maybe you would’ve loosened me up with your tongue first. Saliva’s not a good substitute, but at least it’s something. Unless you like the idea of hearing me scream.”

Joker snarled, caught Akechi by the hair, and kissed him. His mouth, hot and wet, opened the floodgates for both of them, and now they were all teeth, biting each other’s tongues and lips, their hips pumping together in rapid rhythm. Akechi dug his nails into Joker’s scalp, and Joker yanked Akechi’s hair to tilt his head sideways; Joker fumbled Akechi’s peacoat open, raked his nails across his back through his shirt, and Akechi tightened his grip on Joker’s neck until he coughed, until he rocked his head back against the dryer—

Akechi left a line of stinging welts along Joker’s jaw, his collarbone; shoved his shirt up and closed his mouth over a nipple. “ _Hnh_ ,” Joker breathed, arching into him. Akechi flicked his tongue against the hard nub, humming with pleasure as it puckered, sinking his teeth into it until they almost met. Joker’s hands were everywhere, squeezing, scratching, roving across Akechi’s neck and shoulders and back, finally working around to his chest so he could try to undo the buttons on Akechi’s shirt. All the while, they both kept rutting, Akechi’s shaft now hard enough to ache, dragging curses from his mouth with every thrust.

Joker managed to get Akechi’s shirt open, a shock of cold followed by the blazing heat of his bare palms against Akechi’s skin, the sting of his nails across Akechi’s ribs, chest, stomach. Akechi leaned into his touch, growling, sliding his own hands across the taut muscles of Joker’s lower back, downward, past his belt and into his boxers so he could cup his ass. Joker made another urgent, choked noise, caught Akechi’s mouth in his own, bit down on his lower lip so hard that he knew it would swell, knew he’d look tomorrow like he’d been punched in the face.

Akechi grabbed Joker’s hips, shoved him away, held him there until he stopped squirming. Then, discarding his gloves, he returned his hand to Joker’s pants, pressed his fingers between his ass cheeks, his thumb against the pucker of his asshole.

“Ah,” Joker gasped, writhing against him, leaning in and pulling away at once. “ _Ah_ —”

Akechi wasn’t anything approaching gentle, rubbing at him the way you’d rub a stain on a shirt. Joker clutched Akechi’s shoulder, his collar, his hair, his mouth opening in a soundless cry when Akechi changed tack and slipped his index finger inside of him. The walls of Joker’s asshole shuddered; Akechi shifted, probing downward, looking for—

Joker really did cry out this time, like he’d been stabbed, as Akechi made contact with his prostate. Smirking, he pressed firmly against it, teasing it, squeezing desperate sounds, like yips, like yelps, out of Joker with every motion. And then, just as Joker was beginning to whine, to keen, Akechi withdrew his hand altogether. Joker’s eyes flew open, dazed, uncomprehending.

“Akechi,” he rasped. “Akechi, please—”

“Please, what?” Akechi asked, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat.

“I need—I want—”

“ _What_ , Joker?”

Joker opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Akechi smirked.

“See?” he murmured, taking out the bottle of lube. “I can always tell.”

He steered Joker around, shoved him across the room. Joker caught himself on the edge of a washing machine, and Akechi slipped up behind him, bracing one hand on the back of Joker’s neck to bend him over. Akechi undid his own belt one-handed, quick and practiced, and pushed down his pants and his boxers. The cool spring air was not unpleasant on his cock, tingling across its underside, damp with precum. He pressed the shaft against Joker’s ass, into the dip between his cheeks, still covered by fabric; Joker’s shoulders bunched, his fists clenching, as Akechi worked himself smoothly up and down, groaning deep in his throat.

“Do you know—how long—I’ve wanted to do this?” Akechi asked, setting down the lube just long enough to reach around and unzip Joker’s jeans. “Since that day in the café.”

He tugged Joker’s pants down; tried to pull down his boxers too, but they caught on Joker’s dick, and Akechi had to yank hard to get them free. Joker’s breath hitched as the elastic jerked his length downward, as it sprang back to attention and slapped against the washer.

“ _No one_ has _ever_ been allowed to touch my hair,” Akechi hissed, gripping both of Joker’s ass cheeks, pushing his thumbs between them, spreading them open. “No one. Not the occasional fan that I allowed into my bed, not the men in Shinjuku I used to relax, no one. But you got up—” He set his thumb against Joker’s asshole, twisted it, felt a little thrill when Joker cried out—“and put your hands on me, put your _fingers_ against my _scalp_ , and all I wanted to do was take you by the throat and—”

He snatched up the lube, uncapped it, slicked his index, middle, and ring fingers and thrust them inside without preamble. “ _Anh_ ,” Joker cried, shuddering. “ _Akechi_ —”

Akechi’s cock throbbed. “That’s exactly the sound I hoped you’d make,” he breathed, heady with triumph, as he scissored Joker roughly open. “Among others.”

Joker rested his cheek on the washing machine, looked back at Akechi over his shoulder. His eyes were dark, glazed; a ribbon of drool glistened at the corner of his mouth. Akechi normally might have kissed it away, but that wasn’t part of tonight’s game.

He withdrew his fingers, relishing both the _pop_ they made as they emerged and the way Joker gritted his teeth against a moan. Akechi puddled more lube into his hand, grasped his own cock, thrust into his palm.

“All good?” he asked, quietly.

“Don’t stop,” Ren panted. “Please.”

Akechi grabbed his hips, rocked forward, and was inside of him, right up to the hilt. Joker convulsed, choking, fingertips squeaking against the washer.

“Why would I stop, Joker?” Akechi asked silkily, withdrawing and thrusting, building up speed. “It’s not like you—want me to—do you? You want this—you’ve wanted—this—for ages. Who—am I—to deny—you?”

Joker whimpered, high and desperate, tensing so that the pressure on Akechi’s cock redoubled, so that sparks burst before his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Akechi snarled, leaning his elbow on Joker’s back, angling his hips so that he dragged against Joker’s prostate, again and again and again. “Fuck, _fuck_ , you little _slut_ , you take it so _good_ , you’re so _tight_ —”

He closed his fist around the head of Joker’s cock, precum seeping between his fingers, and as Akechi rocked forward so did Joker, pressing into Akechi’s palm, forcing his hand gradually open. Joker huffed out a breath, closed his eyes, turned his face away and buried it in the crook of his elbow to muffle his moans as Akechi fucked him and he fucked Akechi’s hand. Akechi was alight, ablaze, his breath rough in his throat, a pleasure like pain building in his groin; he relished the slap of skin on skin, the wet suck of Joker’s cock pulsing in his grasp, the squeak of lube as his shaft pumped in and out, in and out of that perfect, rippling heat.

And then—

Akechi doubled over, bit Joker’s shoulder, wrapped his arm around his waist as the pressure in his gut unwound all at once and he came: a burst of sensation followed by almost-numbness, his jaw tight and his muscles taut as he filled Joker up.

When it was over, he huddled there for a moment, heartbeat loud in his ears, softening cock twitching. Beneath him, Joker’s back heaved.

Finally Akechi withdrew, sighing with satisfaction as a rush of cum flooded down Joker’s legs.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll finish what I started.”

He turned Joker around, positioned him so he could brace himself on the edge of the washing machine. Joker watched him, eyes hooded, lips parted, clearly thinking he knew what was next. He didn’t. Akechi held his gaze, smirking, as he dropped to his knees, brought his mouth inches from the precum beading at the tip of Joker’s cock.

“Goro,” Ren said, startled. “You don’t have to—”

“What if I _want_ to?” Akechi asked, exhaling pointedly, washing hot breath along Ren’s length. Ren’s cock bobbed, but he held himself firmly back, watching Akechi with mingled hunger and uncertainty.

Akechi lolled out his tongue, lapped at the slit at the tip of his member. “ _Muh_ ,” Ren managed, tensing, the muscles in his shoulders stark against his skin. Akechi wanted him to break, wanted him to thrust himself inside of Akechi’s mouth; he knew Joker wanted to, too, even if Ren was resisting the urge.

Akechi wrapped his fingers around him, pressed his thumbnail to the ridge at the base of his head. Joker hissed in a breath between his teeth, hips bucking, and Akechi licked the slit again, pressing his tongue flat against it, drawing it slowly forward to rest against his lips.

“Akechi,” Joker whispered.

Precum dribbled down Akechi’s chin. He opened his mouth, just a fraction, and swiped the tip of his tongue out to catch it.

Joker’s hips jerked before he could stop them, forcing Akechi’s jaw open, thrusting half of his shaft inside. Joker gasped, started to recoil, but Akechi held him still, flattening his tongue to suck on him. Joker closed his eyes, groaned. Akechi leaned forward, hollowed his cheeks, drew him with torturous slowness in, in, in, until his head bumped the back of Akechi’s throat, until his head was _inside_ of Akechi’s throat, and Akechi was breathing carefully through his nose to keep from gagging. Through damp eyelashes, he watched Joker’s mouth fall open, watched spittle trace a shining path down his chin, and burned with triumph.

If you’d told him, a little more than a year ago, that he would take this much pride and pleasure in sucking Joker’s dick, he’d have laughed in your face, and then slit your throat. But he did. This wasn’t in the script; Akechi hadn’t told him he was going to do this (tonight, anyway—they’d discussed the option before). He hadn’t told him, either, that he’d _practiced_ for this, working his throat with a dildo until he could manage it without choking, without gagging. He lived for the look on Joker’s face, the shock and ecstasy.

Akechi swallowed experimentally, throat flexing against Joker’s cock. Joker’s knees nearly buckled. “Akechi,” he breathed, gripping Akechi’s head, his hair. “ _Akechi_.”

Akechi withdrew, just enough to free his throat with a faint _pop_ , and then bore down again, watching, always watching. Joker’s chest rose and fell with ragged breath, his eyes opening, stark and intense, his jaw working like a starving man’s. He rocked his hips a fraction, pushing deeper; Akechi’s eyes watered but he groaned, long and low, watching the vibrations reverberate through Joker’s body. Joker bit his lip, thrust again, bowed his head when Akechi groaned once more.

He was slow and careful at first, obviously trying not to push too far, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt him. Akechi could appreciate that, but it wasn’t necessary and also it wasn’t what he wanted; he wanted to be used, to be left hoarse and voiceless. He dug his nails into Joker’s thigh, let his teeth drag along Joker’s cock; and Joker, correctly interpreting this as permission, responded with speed, with aggression.

Three thrusts in, Akechi couldn’t breathe. His nose was pressed flat against Joker’s pelvis every time he rocked forward; darkness sizzled at the edges of his vision. His eyes were streaming, his nose was streaming, his mouth was streaming, rivulets of sweat and precum and drool tickling his neck and chest as they coursed across his skin. Joker was _really_ fucking him now, his fingers painful in Akechi’s hair, his cock chafing Akechi’s tongue and throat as if he’d been screaming, as if he’d been howling like a dog at the moon. Akechi _loved_ _it_. There was acid in his veins, fire in his balls, not quite enough to make him hard again so soon but almost, almost; if he’d already been hard, the noises Joker was making, guttural, animal grunts, would have made him come. The only downside was that Akechi couldn’t egg him on, couldn’t tell him what a little whore he was, couldn’t taunt him for being so eager that he’d rut Akechi’s mouth like a horny teenager. He settled for moaning, reveling in the way Joker’s brow furrowed and his lips trembled at the sound.

Then Joker’s breath caught, and he stiffened, and loosened his grip on Akechi’s hair. “I’m—”

He was going to come. Akechi surged forward, locked himself around the head of Joker’s cock, swallowed. Joker barely managed to catch himself on the washing machine, mouth opening, hips spasming as cum filled Akechi’s throat, rebounded into his mouth; the dildo hadn’t prepared him for that; he almost choked, a fine, viscous white film sputtering between his lips. And then, all at once, he relaxed, and drank Joker in, eyes still locked on his face. Joker’s cum was bitter and unpleasant on Akechi’s tongue, but it was worth it to hear Joker’s shaky gasps, to see him twist in absolute agony.

Akechi didn’t withdraw until Ren had gone completely soft. As soon as Akechi stood up, Ren slumped back onto the washing machine, panting.

“How was that?” Akechi asked, sprawling across him.

“It was _perfect_ ,” Ren breathed. “You’re so _good_.”

Akechi grinned, licked a gleaming streak up Ren’s neck.

“That last part—” Ren shivered, cupped Akechi’s face in his hands. “So good.”

Akechi kissed him. His mouth still felt slick, but if Ren could taste it, he apparently didn’t mind; he hooked one arm around Akechi’s neck and drew him closer, so that their chests pressed together.

“We should probably go,” Akechi murmured eventually. “Before some poor, unsuspecting housewife comes in here and gets the shock of her life.”

Ren laughed. “Or discovers a new fetish.”

Akechi purred like a cat. “I could get into that.”

“Having sex in front of housewives? I’d have to think about it.”

“I bet I could convince you.”

“I bet you could,” Ren said, and kissed him again.

This time, when they broke apart, Akechi straightened up.

“Go on,” he said, nodding at the window, toward the bathhouse. “Go clean yourself up. I’ll mop up here and be there in a moment.”

“You sure? I can help.”

“It’s my mess,” Akechi said primly. “I swallowed yours.”

“You did,” Ren said, huskily. He fixed his clothes, for a given value of fixed. “You brought extra clothes, right?”

Akechi nodded at the bag stowed in the corner. “Of course I did.”

“Professional as always.”

“I couldn’t very well expect you to walk around with my cum in your pants for the rest of the night.” Akechi paused. “Although, actually…”

Ren gave him a pleased, rakish grin, kissed him one more time, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> there is so much sexual tension in that laundromat conversation. so much.


End file.
